The painted petal lived in my pencil case.
I'd placed it carefully between two sheets of clear plastic, a secret pressed against my erasers and mechanical pencils. Every time I opened it, a little thrill shot through me. Proof. Proof that yesterday hadn't been a dream. Proof that a boy with storm-gray eyes knew my name.
But today, reality was a cold splash of water.
I stood in the Astronomy Club room, the echo of my own breathing the only sound. It was a small room on the top floor, with a big, grimy window that was supposed to show the stars. Right now, it just showed a cloudy afternoon sky. Dust motes danced in the slants of light, falling on the empty chairs, the silent telescope in the corner, the outdated star charts pinned to the bulletin board.
It was just me. President Shizukawa Koharu. And an empty room.
A heavy feeling settled in my stomach, worse than yesterday's cafeteria noise. This club, my one rebellion, my one choice that was truly mine… it was dying. No, it was already dead. The last two members had graduated. The teacher advisor had transferred.
And the notice from the Student Council was clear: "Clubs with fewer than three members by Friday will be officially disbanded. Room reallocation will proceed."
Friday. Three days away.
I slumped into the president's chair, the old wood creaking under me. The silence here wasn't peaceful like under the sakura tree. It was heavy. It was failing. I traced a finger through the dust on the desk. What was the point of a club to watch the stars if you watched them alone?
My gaze drifted to the window. I'd always loved the stars. They were constant. They followed their own rules, shining on schedule, untouched by the chaos down here. They didn't care about being a good daughter, or good grades, or fitting in. They just were.
I wanted that. Just for an hour a week, I wanted to be in a room that smelled of old paper and possibility, and talk about constellations with someone. Anyone.
"No," I said out loud, my voice small in the empty room. "Not anyone."
The memory of intense gray eyes flashed in my mind. A boy who spoke in colors and silence. Would someone like that ever look up at the stars?
A sudden, reckless idea sparked. It was stupid. It was desperate.
But I was desperate.
I rifled through the club's supply cabinet and found a stack of old, slightly faded poster paper. I took out my best fine-line pens. If I was going down, I wouldn't go down quietly. I'd make one last, beautiful noise.
I spent the next hour bent over the desk, my tongue poking out in concentration. I wasn't a great artist, but I could be neat. I drew a border of twisting vines. In the top corner, I carefully inked: 天文部 - Astronomy Club - We're Looking for You!
But the center… the center needed to be magic. It needed to catch the eye, to make someone stop in the busy hallway and feel something.
I thought of the painted petal. The way the color bled so softly. The feeling of wonder it gave me.
I opened my pencil case, just to look at it for courage. Then, I started to sketch. Not from my mind, but from my memory. From his canvas.
I drew the Moon. Not a cartoon crescent, but the full, cratered moon, with soft shading to show its roundness. I surrounded it with a scatter of tiny, five-pointed stars. And in the lower corner, almost like a signature, I drew a single, perfect sakura blossom floating in the dark sky.
It was the most beautiful thing I'd ever drawn. Because I was copying the feeling, the soul, of his art. The lines were mine, but the spirit… the spirit was all from that boy under the tree.
I wrote the meeting time and room number at the bottom. My hand shook a little. This was it. My last hope.
After school, with a hammering heart, I went to the main hallway's announcement board. It was a jungle of flyers for the soccer club, the culture festival, cram school ads. I found a small empty spot near the bottom, a less-than-prime location. Taking a deep breath, I pinned my flyer to the cork.
It looked small. Lonely. A single, hand-drawn moon in a sea of bright, printed posters.
"What's the point, Koharu?" I whispered to myself, a wave of defeat crashing over me. Who would even see it?
I turned and walked away, not letting myself look back.
The next morning, I couldn't help it. I took the long way to my classroom, past the announcement board. A small crowd of first-years was gathered there, pointing.
My heart leaped. They're looking at it!
I edged closer, my hopes rising like a fragile balloon.
"…so cool!" one girl said.
"It looks professional,"a boy agreed.
The balloon strained against the sky. I hugged my books to my chest, a tiny smile touching my lips.
Then I heard the next part.
"Yeah,the new Digital Art Club is really stepping up their game. This poster is amazing."
My smile froze.
"Oh,is that what it is? I thought it was for an art exhibit."
"No,look, it says 'Astronomy Club' but that's gotta be a mistake. This is way too good for some star-gazing club."
The balloon didn't just pop; it deflated with a sad, silent wheeze. They liked the art, but they didn't see me. They didn't see the club. They just saw a pretty picture they couldn't believe was mine.
The bell rang, scattering the group. I was left standing alone in front of my own flyer. The word "Astronomy" suddenly looked childish next to the moon I'd drawn. A mismatch. A fraud.
I felt a hot prick behind my eyes. Stupid. This was so stupid.
"Excuse me."
A low, quiet voice spoke from right behind my shoulder.
I nearly jumped out of my skin. I whirled around.
And the world stopped.
Him.
The boy from the tree. Minazuki Arata. He stood less than a foot away, his school bag slung over one shoulder. Today, his storm-gray eyes weren't calm. They were sharp. Focused. And they were locked not on me, but on the flyer over my shoulder.
My breath vanished. All the air in the hallway was gone.
He took a step closer, forcing me to step back slightly. He didn't even glance at me. His entire attention was consumed by the paper on the board. He leaned in, his eyes scanning every line, every shadow of my drawing.
His face, which had been so still and serene under the tree, was now a mask of tense concentration. I saw his jaw tighten. A faint line appeared between his brows.
He recognized it.
Of course he recognized it. I'd copied the feel of his work. I'd stolen the soul of his sakura and put it next to my moon.
Panic, cold and sharp, shot through me. He was angry. He had to be angry. I'd taken something personal, something beautiful he'd left for me, and I'd plastered it on a public board for a dying club.
"I… I…" My voice was a dry squeak.
He finally moved. His hand came up, not towards me, but towards the pushpin holding the flyer. With a precise, quiet motion, he pulled it free from the cork. He held the paper in his hands, staring at it as if it were a puzzle, or a ghost.
Then, slowly, he turned those stormy eyes on me.
The noise of the hallway—the chatter, the footsteps, the slamming lockers—all of it melted into a distant, muffled roar. In the clear, silent space between us, I could hear my own heart crashing against my ribs.
His gaze was intense, searching. It wasn't the gentle observation from the hill. This was an interrogation. He was looking for the reason, the why, behind the tracing.
Tears of shame and panic welled up in my eyes. "I'm sorry," I whispered, the words barely audible. "I just… the club… I needed…"
I couldn't finish. I just stared at him, waiting for the cold words, the accusation, the dismissal.
He looked from my tear-filled eyes back down to the flyer in his hands. His expression didn't soften, but the intense focus shifted. He wasn't just looking at his stolen art now. He was reading the words. Astronomy Club. We're Looking for You. Room 4-3. Today after school.
The silence stretched, thin and tight enough to snap.
Just as I was sure he would turn and walk away forever, a loud, boisterous voice shattered the bubble around us.
"ARATA! There you are, you hermit!"
A tall, broad-shouldered boy with spiky hair and a kendo bag barreled down the hall. He threw a friendly arm around Minazuki Arata's shoulders, jolting him. The flyer crumpled slightly in Arata's grip.
"We've got practice early today, captain's orders! No hiding in the art room!" the boy laughed, completely oblivious to the tension he'd just plowed through. He was a force of nature, all loud energy and bright smiles. He finally noticed me, his eyes widening with friendly curiosity. "Oh! Hey! Sorry, am I interrupting?"
Minazuki Arata didn't answer him. He didn't even look at him. His eyes were still on me. He carefully, deliberately, smoothed the crumpled flyer against his chest.
Then, he did something that stole the last remaining breath from my lungs.
He folded the paper, once, neatly. And he slipped it into the inner pocket of his school jacket, right over his heart.
He gave me one last, unreadable look—a mix of storm and something else, something I couldn't name. And then he let his loud friend steer him away down the hall.
I stood there, rooted to the spot, my hand pressed to my own chest.
He'd taken it. He hadn't yelled. He hadn't accused me. He'd… kept it.
The bell for homeroom rang, a sharp, final sound. The hallway emptied.
But in the quiet left behind, a new kind of silence grew. Not the empty silence of the club room. Not the peaceful silence of the sakura tree.
This was the electric, waiting silence after a lightning strike, just before the thunder rolls.
He had my flyer. He knew my secret.
And I had no idea what would happen next.
To be continued...